


forbidden

by teaspoonery (quodpersortem)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 04:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13115997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/teaspoonery
Summary: (livejournal re-post fromhere; mine)rating: rword count: 484clouds gathering overhead as a quiet rain starts pattering down onto the castle’s turret she is sleeping indate: 2010-08-22





	forbidden

He sneaks up the staircase by night, clouds gathering overhead as a quiet rain starts pattering down onto the castle’s turret she is sleeping in. The wind seeps in through crooks and gaps, cooling down the autumn air in the castle, heavy on the smell of darkening leaves and falling acorns, on the smell of warm bread with sugar and cinnamon and thickly spread butter, the smell of burning wood and the soft crackling of fire coming from her room.  
  
She is there already when he enters, hair still wet from the bath she just took, and a hint of summer hangs in the air, smelled in the lavender oil she used. She smiles at him, her blue eyes glimmering gold in the light of the hearth fire, and pushes her body upwards out of the chair and towards him.  
  
Sword and chainmail fall with a clank to the wooden floor planks.  
  
Her lips are soft when they meet his, and they are still ever so quiet, their movements but whispers in the thickened air of the castle, the door to them a veil towards the outside world. And her purple-with-blue dress sinks to the floor, beads there like it’s a pond, glass-frozen during the mid-winter feast. He touches her side, her hip, she slips her hands under his shirt and slides it off.  
  
Whispers.  
  
Their bodies close in on each other, dancing, his breeches now off as well and his body already swollen with want. She arches out for him as he touches the curve of her chest, as his lips tip-touch themselves to soft velvet, making her cry out and haul him up with fingers entwined in his hair.  
  
Lavender, but with a hint of oranges, with a hint of his own sweat.  
  
The fire starts crackling louder as the room becomes more damp, the rain intensifying as he pushes himself into her slowly, carefully, tightly with a hand on her cheek. Her cheeks, normally pale like the insides of shells on the beach, are red like her lips are, and he can feel his muscles tensing already, because he missed this for weeks. The King never was out of the castle for long enough, the wait never let its guard down. He persevered, however, and now he is here, moving in and over and atop of her, and she moans with pleasure as she grips his arms, as she flails her hands about and rips the sheet with nails.  
  
Crackling. Sugar with cinnamon.  
  
It doesn’t take long before he goes dizzy and tense, before he lets everything go deep inside her, not even having the mind to pray for no pregnancy. He buries his head in her neck, gasping as he pushes and pulls and feels how she starts to move along with him, pulling, pushing, pulling, pushing, contractions, contradictions of how  
  
love is quite not love, when love is forbidden.


End file.
